


Lips & Gin

by fasciinating



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock, Established Relationship, Intimacy, M/M, Mind Meld, Non-Explicit Sex, Vignette, spones - Freeform, tiny one-shot is tiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fasciinating/pseuds/fasciinating
Summary: Sometimes logic isn't always right.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock, McCoy/Spock
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	Lips & Gin

**Author's Note:**

> This was a very tiny thing I wrote on tumblr a long time ago. I've made a couple edits to hopefully read better as an itty, bitty fic. Hope you like it! Comments or kudos are greatly appreciated. ❤️ Thanks for reading!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or its characters, nor am I affiliated with Paramount.

Time and perhaps, something more he cannot explain, has inevitably brought them to this moment.

Twisted and yearning, uncharacteristically, and without control. It's with stunning revelation that Spock realizes his inability to concern himself with these details. All lips, tongue, and teeth now, behind the locked door of his quarters as steady hands drag down and dig into the flesh of his back.

He has wanted this for some time. They both have, it turns out. Even if the rules Spock has known and lived by his entire life have told him that _wanting_ isn't always the same or fulfilling as _having_. However, still, by fault of his lesser things, as human as he is, as he can be, between two warring halves, he does so anyway.

It's these desperate touches, the sounds of their breathing, the drawl of the Doctor's voice,

like the roll of sand that furrows and flows in a lazy flurry between Vulcan’s forge, coarse and unstable; then spoken, as if made smooth like the undercurrent of the Vorath sea.

It's these things, that tell him it's okay, that he's allowed. It leads the pads of Spock’s fingers up and up and up, in just the right, familiar, places of the Doctor’s face. 

Then it hits him. Them. _Both_. Like that feeling in the pit of his stomach, in the pull beneath Spock's feet, when the ship punches to warp. Like every little thing between space and the stars.

Suddenly, who he is, what he knows, what Spock feels, all higher thinking and primal instincts, bottles into a ship too small, before it’s shot into the sky and torn into shreds. Everything is shaking muscle, shivering deep into dense bones, pinched eyes and spilling and spilling and spilling, until the aftermath is a thick sense of affection, irrational, illogical, devotion, pouring through sweat slicked skin.

Spock’s eyes are glassy when the Doctor’s arms begin to slowly wrap around him. The wealth of his blue black hair, not at all perfect. But together, despite this envelopment with possibly the loudest human Spock has ever met, his mind is quiet like that of a desert. Spock breathes. A sigh, like Leonard’s name, and finally, settles into the lazy tangle of their feet.

Some rules, he finds, are simply meant to be broken.


End file.
